


One time too many

by TooManyChoices



Series: Sherlock and the Thames [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Again, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, John's had enough of this shit, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Sex, Sherlock's been back in the Thames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's back in the Thames and John's starting to think there's something wrong with their relationship. However, Sherlock's not at all bothered.</p><p>This fic was inspired by this photograph of Benedict Cumberbatch. http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/fb/48/a9/fb48a91e8cb4ccd890e400d21507671f.jpg</p><p>This fic may alarm some and has triggers for forced submission. I wish to make it clear that my Sherlock and John are consenting adults who are quite capable of saying no if the need arises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One time too many

RICHMOND BRIDGE. BRING DRY CLOTHES – SH

FOR YOU, OR ME…. John texted back.

ME – SH

John rolled his eyes and stifled a fairly colourful expletive in the silence of the flat. This habit Sherlock had of ending up in London’s most famous waterway was becoming something of an issue.

Sherlock was yet to share the details of whatever he was working on, and to be fair various resulting activities tended to distract John from pursuing the matter. All John knew was that that this would be the fifth… _no, sixth_ …time the famous waterway and the world’s only consulting pain-in-the-arse had met in an extremely intimate embrace. At least this time, it was mid-July and the irritating git would be less likely to suffer hyperthermia, even this late at night.

John practiced his speech while in the cab.

_What you’re doing…what WE’RE doing, it isn’t healthy Sherlock._

_I think we’ve both formed a psychological association between sex and you getting a dunking. That’s not normal._

The cab turned the final corner and pulled up at the curb, John handed him the notes and stepped into the patchy light cast by the street lights.

_It’s not that we have to stop, you understand, I just think…we need to consider whether we’re fetishising this._

John picked his way down the embankment toward the water, scanning under the bridge and up and down the river, looking for his crazy flatmate in what little light the moonlight provided.

_Because, you know Sherlock, there’s other ways we can…….JESUS, MARY and JOSEPH!_

John’s internal conversation stuttered to a blasphemous halt as his friend…partner…lover…waded into view.

Waist deep in the water, Sherlock approached the shore slowly but determinedly, his curls plastered flat against his head and dextrous fingers undoing shirt buttons as he pushed his way through the water. His suit jacket was missing and yet another Belstaff coat seemed to have been lost to the hungry river.

Not that John cared at that moment. Like some Byronic figure that had stumbled into a fashion photo shoot, Sherlock paused, ran fingers through his hair to ensure it stayed out of his eyes and continued his seemingly endless walk toward shore, the water lapping up and over his hips with each step.

John’s carefully planned speech, full of logic and common sense, evaporated as his hind-brain flooded his system with more simple words; Need, Want, Take, and John felt his knees buckle as the blood rushed from his brain’s motor control systems to services located further South.

“John?” Sherlock, having seen him crumple on the shore, Hurried to clear the water and loomed over him as John knelt awkwardly on the bank, “Are you alright?”

John looked up, taking in the wet black material as it transitioned to pale skin and white shirt, hanging open to the waist, then further up to the concerned look under the slicked back hair.

“Just when I think I’ve got things squared away, that I have some chance of pulling us back from the edge of insanity you…..just….fuck, Sherlock, look at you.” John trailed off, aware that his mouth was hanging open.

Sherlock obediently looked down at himself, noting the rivulets of water making their methodical journey toward the ground then back to John still kneeling on the ground, “I don’t see what….Oh, you’re aroused.”

John shook his head and said to no one in particular, “And the greatest mind in London is surprised….Yes, Sherlock….I’m like a tent pole down here.”

“Why?”

Sherlock continued to efficiently disrobe on the shore, and as he peeled the virtually transparent shirt down long pale arms like skinning a grape, John desperately tried to pull words together while simultaneously filing the image away for future masturbatory purposes.

“Because, Sherlock…you and I are all sorts of fucked up but so help me, right now, you standing there dripping wet, all I want to do is shove you up against the wall under this bridge and rip your remaining clothes off.

Sherlock’s fingers stilled at the outburst and his head tilted to the side, considering John’s words and weighing up options, in a quiet voice, lower and rougher than usual he said, “You could, you know.”

If John had thought he was hard, it was nothing compared to his response to those words, “We really can’t.” he managed to squeeze between gritted teeth.

Sherlock spared a glance up and down the river, lingering on the deeper shadows nestled under the bridge overhang, “We really can. In fact, unless you’re determined to delay your gratification ….we really will. I’ll just be over there…when you’re ready” Sherlock, bare chested and undoing his fly turned toward the seclusion of the bridge recesses, “…no hurry….take your time John.”

John sat open mouthed for barely a minute more before muttering “Damnit.” and hurriedly pushing up off the ground and striding after him.

@@@@

“Took you long enough.” Sherlock stood in the shadows. He’d unbuttoned his trousers, but left them hanging wetly on his hips, a trail of dark hair trailing from navel to disappear into the dark grey briefs visible in the gap.

John licked his lips and advanced into the shadows, crowding Sherlock up against the bricks and kissed him roughly, only easing back after Sherlock hissed as his shoulders were rubbed against the rough masonry at his back.

“If we get caught, it’ll be all over the papers by morning.” John muttered angrily.

“And yet….here we are.” Sherlock answered voice hushed and quick, “Don’t pretend the risk doesn’t excite you, you can’t hide this from me, John. You want this, you have for some time.”

“Oh yes…you’re a fucking saint…..we’re only here because ‘I’ want this.” John bit at Sherlock’s neck where he could feel his pulse under the skin.

“I didn’t say that….unnff” Sherlock gasped as John grabbed his hips hard and pushed him against the wall before grinding their pelvises together, “Yes…..like that…just like that John.”

“I’m sick of you…..making the rules….” John reached up and curled fingers into Sherlock’s wet hair, pulling his head down so he could crush their mouths together. Sherlock groaned low against his lips.

John wasn't finished, "You wanted this Sherlock, you...not me. You planned it, but we're doing this my way. I'm through being your bloody fuck-toy, to be trotted out whenever you feel in the mood. I'm over it, I'm done. Now...." John hissed as he placed both hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pressed down hard, "Get on your knees."

Sherlock crumpled gracelessly to kneel on the rocky ground, his hand's reaching to steady himself as John's moved to undo his own fly and push his jeans and pants carelessly down around his knees, his cock springing free.

"Open." John grunted tersely.

"John..." Sherlock was uncharacteristically subdued in the dim recess.

"Open!" John repeated more forcefully.

Sherlock sighed softly and complied, his mouth falling open under the force of John's tone.

"There you go Sherlock, that's the way."

John thrust once into Sherlock's waiting mouth and in an effort to control the depth, Sherlock jolted his head back, grunting as his skull made contact with the bricks behind him and clutching at John's hip in sudden pain.

John placed a steadying hand at the back of Sherlock's skull, protecting it against further harm, and when Sherlock made no move to pull away or object, his next thrust was no less forceful, or the next, or the next. Lost in his own anger and need for control, it took several minutes until John noticed Sherlock's shaky hands clutching at his hips or the soft gagging that sometimes punctuated the silence. John's urgent thrusting suddenly stilled and he hurriedly pulled out.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Fuck...." John knelt and desperately brushed a damp curl out of Sherlock's eyes, afraid that he'd irretrievably damaged whatever relationship they'd been building, "God, look at me. Are you OK? Jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." John trailed off, lifting Sherlock's face to look into watery eyes.

Sherlock wiped a hand across his puffy lips, cleaning the drool that had been running freely down his chin, "Well," he began, his voice raspy, "That was different."

"God...Sherlock..sorry, there's no excuse...." John looked away.

Sherlock made a dismissive noise low in his throat and guided John's face back to his, gentle fingers on his chin, "John, I'm fine. So you got a little rough, it happens. I'm not hurt and you stopped long before there was danger of it. In fact, I rather enjoyed it."

"You......"

"...Rather enjoyed it, yes. Although I could perhaps do without the abrasions on my knees and shoulder, and I suspect I'm going to have a sizeable bump on my head."

John touched the back of Sherlock's head carefully and winced when his fingertips came away with spots of blood, "Shit, how can you be OK with this?"

"Oh John, what would possibly make you think I want our sex life to be normal any more than the rest of our lives. Honestly John, think for a moment."

John shook his head in bewilderment, "But, what I did...I forced you to..."

"John, really. You may have been a little _insistent_ but I was far from unwilling, in fact I was rather looking forward to you bending me over that skip over there until you had your emotional crisis."

"Emotional.....Now hang on." John bit back, before pausing and taking a deep breath, "Stop trying to goad me."

Sherlock's eyes crinkled at the corners and he broke into a smile, "Worth a shot." He reached out and lay a steady hand on John's shoulder, "Can we go home? I'm freezing, my knees are starting to throb and, if I remember correctly, I have handcuffs and some fabric that would make a very serviceable gag in my bedside table."

"I know who's getting the gag." John muttered as he helped them both stand and rebutton their pants.

"I'm hoping I'll be in the handcuffs too, but I'm willing to be flexible." He replied with a grin as they headed for the street.


End file.
